From
the depths of the cold barren void came Silverbird; a speck of light amid the
darkness. He had slept for an aeon, but now in the warmth of the newly found
solar breeze his mind slowly became aware.

He
opened his giant collector wings stretching them to their limits, then in his
own way, he yawned. The sudden photon saturation sent a tingle down the full
length of his body, exciting his aching joints and bringing new life to his
inboard neuro-trionics.

His
first actions did not concern his mission, there would be plenty of time for
that later, after he had soaked up as much free energy as his photonic and
protion field absorbers would hold. Now was the time to enjoy the richness of
this sky field. He rolled upon his back, watching the vivid star streams of
Galactica shift from beneath him, to high above his pellicle sensor outlet. It
seemed so easy to roll vast star systems around the universe. He smiled to
himself inwardly, not only at his illusionary feat, but at the wind of many
frequencies, whispering gently past his ears and the softly coloured light,
which entered his hyperoid eyes. Oh, it was good to be alive.

Before
him riding on the vortex of heaven was a small yellow disc. He recognised it
immediately as the star of his destination, a second-generation bio-sun; the
source of his new found energy. How wonderful, he thought, that such a tiny
part of creation could give so much joy.

His
anti-gravity generator he carefully turned down, with the 'accelerator'
minimised he could again experience mass, and acceleration; no longer was he
inertialess. Though the drag of a near vacuum was small he could still sense
himself falling.

The
little yellow lamplight grew steadily in luminosity until Silverbird decided it
was time to brake and turn into a falling spiral around the energy fields
pleasure centre. This was a simple task, which his uni-conscious could handle
effortlessly.

His
retro's swung through one-sixty degrees upon his belly and his interchange
submersion unit, an integral part of his anti-gravity generator, was activated.
He then closed his ears and lower eyes to all emanations. A quick systems check
proved all his faculties to be in order, all that remained was to re-fold his
wings and give the command signal for ignition.

A
tremendous roar ripped through the framework of Silverbird as his speed reduced
dramatically. The small yellow disc stayed its growth and veered toward the
outer edge of the enclon arm spiral.

The
inertia of decelerating from nine eighty standards down to one, left Silverbird
feeling rather giddy, despite the standard settings of ninety seven percent on
the submersion units, but he knew it would pass quickly. It wasn't the first
time he had experienced such a 'T' force and he hoped it wouldn't be the last.

An
'A' type ringworld appeared on his detectors. They informed him immediately,
knowing how much he enjoyed such sights, even though he would pass by swiftly.

Silverbird
thanked the detector-decoder-basers and again opened his wings, ears and lower
eyes. He wanted to feel all of the vibrations of this glorious gas giant with
its elaborate ring system, recording all the sensations for later analysis.

The
flypast lasted only moments, but the sights were not missed. A slight course
deviation had taken him across the ring-plane adding more pleasurable variation
to his already heightened sensors. There were many cold moons abroad in this
mini-system yet he knew the heat of gravitational drag would make them both
weird and wonderful. He made a note in his jogger log to return if possible.

"Closing
in on bio-world three," came the detector's voice. "Suggest an easing
of speed to point zero two standards."

Again
Silverbird thanked the detectors, though he guessed they didn't really
appreciate this courtesy; they would merely take his words as an
acknowledgement.

"You
have previous soundings of the bio-worlds on data feedback," continued the
detectors. "If you would care to latch on to the appropriate
pointsenders." The basers always referred to Silverbird's uni-conscious as
'you' for their own reasons.

"Very
good, I shall re-run the sounding for bio-world three."

Before
losing himself in the data feedback section, Silverbird had a word with his
auto-comp-basers. He, Silverbird, his conscious that is, wouldn't have time to
steer himself while experiencing the re-run. "Drop my speed to that
suggested, and wind my way into orbit. I want to have a close look at what is
down there."

"As
you wish," replied the auto-comps.

Silverbird
tried to find the original dating of the soundings but had no luck. The only
reference he could find was an archaic logger module, which gave the impression
that the soundings were made around the time naught blob. Never mind, he
thought, let's get on with the show.

The
viewpoint for the recording came from the visionary of some ancient vessel, but
despite that it was still in reasonable condition. There was also an internal
sound recording, which increased Silverbird's interest considerably. He relaxed
and slid into the space of yestertime, which came to him as if it was the
present.

"Double
zero one boost confirmed, altitude decreasing."

"Forward
shield up, this is going to be a hot one."

The
shield flared brilliantly as the vessel began its descent. The recording
visionary, for a time, became blinded by the brilliance.

"Four
jiffs to bounce, brace yourselves.........."

"Ugh,
didn't like that, isn't there a better way?"

"We
haven't got the thrust juice to spare on a controlled descent; what did you
expect?"

"What
I got I suppose."

"Altitude
four five zero three, speed five zeros and a two, coming under powered
flight."

The
visionary cleared, revealing a rocky terrain, but a meandering river could be
seen, surrounded by primitive vegetation and the occasional woodland.

On
the forward horizon the familiar plume of an erupting volcano could be viewed
spreading its obnoxious dust and fumes across the landscape.

"Do
you think the place is habitable?"

"Wouldn't
like to say for sure. I have an O.K. reading on the atmosphere content, but it
certainly looks hostile down there."

"That's
fair comment. I think we should investigate more closely."

"Your
wish is my command."

The
viewpoint dropped steadily toward the ground, until the vegetation could
clearly be seen. It was sparser than at first thought, but the richness of
colour made the place seem more appealing.

"Any
sign of animal life?"

"No,
the sensors show a blank and I certainly can't see anything."

The
terrain changed suddenly from rock to water, a large lake it seemed, one of the
few gathering points of water, on an otherwise liquidless land. The volcano
ahead began to grow larger, looming high above its surrounding rockworld.

"Two
degrees port."

"Two
degrees port confirmed."

The
hollow mountain drifted by.

A
plain now lay before them, followed by crater after crater after crater.

"I
think we are in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I
couldn't agree with you more. We have all the information we require for the
three biological worlds. Let's head for home."

"You
don't mind if we hit the hybo-tanks before we go stellar outriding?"

"Not
at all."

Sky
only appeared before the craft, a deep, deep blue. With an ear splitting whine
the booster pods burst into life, and the picture went blank.

Silverbird
mused to himself for a while. His mind smiling at what he had just experienced.
It wasn't hard to see where he had inherited the old flaws in his speech and
this amused him. It was always an experience to hear the 'bios' in action,
though the ones in this sounding were very different to those of the present,
evolution had seen to that. In his own lifetime, which had spanned many ages,
he had seen much change; he often wondered how they coped with their little
lifespans and endless diversities.

"Ready
for descent," stated the auto-comps.

"Hold
a while," replied Silverbird. "Let me have a quick look first."
He closed his upper eyes, so that he could concentrate on the world below. What
he saw was not at all pleasing. The world was dead, little atmosphere and even
less moisture. Enormous red deserts covered the land and impact basins were
abundant.

He
asked the detectors for a second opinion and they confirmed what he already
thought.

"Bio
Two," said the auto-computers, "the third innermost planet?"

"Ride
on," he didn't really mean to say it that way.

CHAPTER
2

Boris
Rigapolski was worn out after a heavy day of canvassing for the ninety-nine
elections. He couldn't quite understand the need for democracy.

Huddling
inside his cumbersome leather overcoat he surveyed the Moscow scenery. It
looked bleak with its thin covering of snow and heavy March skies. He would be
glad to get home and have a warm bath.

Boris
absent-mindedly wiped a bloodstain from his coat as he trundled down one of the
many back streets, which led to his residence. Not much further, he thought,
just another ten minutes, then a nice glass of warming vodka.

His
two helpers followed closely behind. All junior members of the Bureau had
escorts, especially the junior member for defence. It annoyed Boris intensely
that such a high ranking official should have to take to the streets, 'for the
cause', as it was so admirably put. His helpers didn't seem to mind street
walking too much, for they were members of the D.K.G.B., the D being for
democratic. They were hardened to this type of work, in fact it could be said
that at times they relished it. Not until they reached Boris's home would they
finally part company. This was standard procedure, just in case the locals
didn't think a great deal to the way Boris conducted his free and easy
campaign.

At
4p.m. he arrived at his doorstep; he wafted his helpers away and reached into
his pocket for his two keys to unlock the door. This always proved to be an
annoyance. The difficulty of handling keys with frozen hands was immense. I
will have to get a sentry, he thought, it would be much simpler.

Once
inside the door, he called for his wife, a small slender woman, with a quaint,
pretty face; a complete contrast to the brusque Boris. He often wondered why he
had ever married her; she wasn't his type at all. Why hadn't he married someone
with a bit more to get hold of, stronger thighs, someone with a stronger
personality that could hold her own in a good conversation? It must have been
the insanity of youth, he concluded, that had led him astray.

It
wasn't Olga who greeted him on his entry but his little pet Doberman Pincers.
They snarled lovingly at the scent of blood on his person.

"Down
Hans, down Fritz," he said warmly, "your dinner will come soon
enough."

Olga
stood in the opening to their modest sized lounge, her soft hair hanging gently
upon her shoulders, with just a wisp upon her brow, even her drab clothes
couldn't hide her gentle charms. "Welcome, good husband. I hope your day
was not too hectic."

"Of
course it was," he snapped, "have you boiled the water for my bath
and warmed my vodka?"

"Yes,
my darling, all is prepared."

Boris
threw off his clothes and settled down in the tub, in front of his
thirty-centimetre black and white television. Only this sort of luxury was
provided for Bureau members and Boris knew this well.

"I
apologise for my ignorance," she uttered. "I will see that I am not
so stupid in future."

Olga
turned the set on and waited for the tubes to warm up before switching to the
correct channel. She then retired to the room corner to hold the antenna.

"Be
gone," rasped Boris, "the picture is satisfactory without you
standing there." He then settled down comfortably, sipping vodka and
blowing bubbles, until..........

CHAPTER
3

General
Fitspatrick Holding, head of the Deep West Retaliatory Command, sat in his long
johns, looking bored at his thirty-inch tri-hi-fi sensorvision tv screen. He
normally sat this way because he found it much more comfortable.

The
commercials had just been interrupted by the 8a.m. movie, but now they were
back on again.

"....How
are you today, Miss Finebody? You look very healthy and full of the joys of
life."

"Yes,
indeed I am, Mrs Bodice. Yesterday I felt depressed and unclean. I even thought
of throwing myself out of the window, but then I discovered new 'Cheekrub', the
moisturised toilet tissue. It changed my outlook on life completely. I feel a
new woman...."

"Load
of crap," grunted Holding. He flicked switch thirty-three on his remote
handset and the screen went dead. He placed the handset on a large smoked glass
coffee table, then reached for his deodorant. On clasping it, he raised himself
up and walked over to the mirrored wall. A quick spray under each arm and he
plonked it down on his desk, using his other hand to obtain a large Havana from
a silver beaded box.

Well,
that is another rigorous night at the office over with, he thought. Now to go
home for a bit of relaxation - or I would be able to have some, if it was not
for that old 'Foxbat' wife of mine. Perhaps I should fix her up with some
spare-time work, the D.K.G.B. maybe. He grinned fiendishly as he lifted his
shirt from the back of his desk chair. Now, that would be a good idea ... I
wonder when Phil will come visiting. He's a fine boy, takes after his daddy.

The
next few minutes he spent practising his 'John Wayne' walk in front of the
mirror, saying such phrases as .... 'The hell I will' and 'Let's get the hell
outa here'.

His
telephone, the presidential one to be precise, which was having its usual quiet
time, suddenly sprang to life. Must be the presidential office, he mused,
recognising the 'Star Spangled Banner'.

After
stubbing his unlit cigar in the ashtray, he made his way quickly down the
mirrored wall, past his personal transceiver to his desk. He brushed the fluff
from his shirt and smartened his collar, then lifted the phone to his ear.
"Holding speaking."

"Hi
there, Pat. I hope I haven't caught you with your pants down. Have you been
watching T.V.?"

Holding
looked down at his long johns and answered, "Well, yes Mr. President.... I
did watch it for a while earlier, but I had seen all the ads before, so I
decided to switch off."

"No,
not the commercials, something more important."

More
important than the commercials, he thought. Then listened more intently, his
face slowly becoming awe-stricken.

The
rest of his phones were now playing their various tunes impatiently, but he
ignored them. Only one thought came into his mind as he looked down at his long
johns and he muttered it out loud. "If this is truly a national emergency,
I think I had better................."

CHAPTER
4

Silverbird
approached the blue bio-world with apprehension in his mind. He had run the
ancient sounding of this place through his conscious, and now felt a little
uncertain of what to expect.

Bio-two
had been inhabited, even in those distant times, by a race who wield power, not
by technology or muscle, but by their very thought. They were a powerful race,
they who had taken the task of carving a civilisation from the wild and barren
terrain, and the appearance of an alien craft made them less than happy.

They
would not permit the landing of the reconnaissance vessel. "Depart now,"
they had said. "We shall not tolerate interference while the world is yet
in infancy."

The
crew did not contest this wish, realising the power which was abroad. They had
come upon the creators before and knew they worked with forces, not of normal
space but of a place where matter and energy were as one, the conjunction of
darkness and light.

The
total sum of data obtained, amounted to no more than the place name, which like
many other worlds was Earth, and the name of those who bid them depart, which was
Monitor, a modest name.

Silverbird
mused long over this sounding and eventually decided that the Earth would no
longer be the domain of the creators, for once other races came into being, the
power of the Monitors would decline, leaving all living things to their own.

"On
approach run, reversing thrust to orbit."

Silverbird's
mind jogged back to the present with the sound of the auto-comps voice.
"Have I decoded any of those communication channels from below yet?"

"Indeed
you have," retorted the detectors, "but it was thought best not to
channel the information to you as yet, because of the sheer quantity you have
received and the difficulty in ascertaining what is relevant. Some of the
channels could not be decoded, the pictures did not sync with the sound, often
the pictures would break up into squares or freeze or repeat themselves, grainy
movement. I think they call it digital TV. You have however detected no
coherent beam directed especially for you, the inhabitants must not be aware of
your approach."

"Could
I have a quick briefing on what I have received?"

"Of
course, but you will not like it, here goes ....The world which we approach is
made up of over one hundred individual races, all with the same chemistry and
all with different ideas. The abundant races hate the sparser races, but not as
much as they hate each other. The sparser races hate each other about as much
as they hate the more abundant races. Many of the abundant races possess
atomics of varying degrees, enough to wipe themselves from the universe,
several times over. On the domestic front it seems that all races have a
certain amount of poverty, strife and lawlessness...."

"Alright,
point taken." Silverbird cringed a little. "Do I have any information
on any of the individual beings concerning their mental states?"

"Only
on a certain Miss Finebody, but it is a mistake to base your overall
assumptions on one person, especially this one. She seems very unstable."

Silverbird
dwelt on the words of the detectors, then decided to by-pass this 'misbegotten
island'. "What of the 'distant survey' on Bio-One?"

"I
am afraid you cannot be sure from this range, but it seems the surface
temperature is far too high to support life and the atmosphere is made up of a
thick layer of poisonous clouds. If you wait a while its position will become
more favourable for analysis, or, of course you could make the short
journey."

"No,
it doesn't matter, Bio-One must have undergone some catastrophic changes since
it came into being. I shall have to settle for Bio-Two. Perhaps I am hasty in
my conclusions of this world. It would not have survived thus, had there not
been great and courageous minds at work, maybe I underestimate its
populace."

"Should
the field deflectors be energised?" queried the auto-comps.

"It
may be wise," added the detectors.

"They
emit too much radiation," replied Silverbird. "I shall fly into the
atmosphere without defence and put a general peace call out on their public
communication systems. It seems that there is no way of making official contact
through any one governing body without unsettling the rest, and all must be
aware of my presence."

"Could
you not place the Krykan incubator egg in some secluded place and leave its
inhabitants to do the rest?" It seemed for a moment that the detectors
voice held frustration.

Silverbird
could feel the pressure of the Krykan incubator on his peritoneum. His trionics
kept a constant vigil on its occupants in their hybo-matrix. "I must first
try to persuade the Earthlings to my cause. It would be a shame to overcome
them in such a way and it is by no means certain that they would be overcome.
All life should find its own path, if that is possible without force or
deceit." Silverbird realised that his sympathy would fall on deaf ears, but
the detectors would accept the reasoning of a sentient mind.

"Should
you inform Warcloud and Thunderwing of your decision?" queried the
detectors.

The
vision of Warcloud and Thunderwing swept into Silverbird's minds eye. They
would be cruising wing to wing like dark shadows within the inter-stellar void.
Huge in size and deadly in their tasks.

"I
have no choice. I only hope that I have matters under control before Big
Brother and Thunderwing arrive." With that final statement Silverbird
cleared his mind of all unhappy thoughts and ignited his retro's.

Like
a giant butterfly he came upon the land, his wings flapping in the air around
him. Over hill and mountain, sea and lake he flew, drawing in the beauty of
life and revelling in its lushness. For a while his sensors were overcome with
feelings, not strange but very old.

CHAPTER
5

Boris
Rigapolski could barely believe what he was hearing on television. What was
supposed to be the news, had turned out to be something entirely different.

"....And
this my friends is why I beg your co-operation. Though we may be different in
kind, I believe our aims to be the same. Let us join our forces to combat the
common enemy, before it is too late. I, Silverbird, await your decision."

The
screen returned to normal. Boris still couldn't comprehend what his eyes had
seen. There was no such thing as silver butterflies. It must be an imperialist
plot, he thought.

At
that moment a loud knocking came at the door. Hans and Fritz began jumping
about excitedly.

"I am coming, I am coming," yelled Boris, as he
raised himself from the tub.

Olga
passed him a large towel which he wrapped around himself. Then he made his way
to the door, leaving puddles of water on the lounge tiles.

He
opened the door slightly, just giving enough space for Hans to slip his head
through and sink his teeth into the house caller.

The
man let out a yell of pain, then quickly stepped back from the doorway.

Boris
recognised the yell; he had heard it before. It was one of his D.K.G.B.
escorts.

"What
do you want?" called Boris, "apart from a doctor."

The
helper grimaced. "You are required at H.Q immediately, comrade. Something
very important has come up."

Boris's
mind flicked back to his television, so it is an imperialist plot, he thought.
That is why they require my services. My comrades are certainly on the ball.

He
closed the door again and hurriedly dressed. Without a word being spoken, he
kissed his dogs goodbye, locked the door and left.

CHAPTER
6

"I
want a full status report on the activities of that mechanical canary. I want
fighter planes tailing it. I want ground stations tracking it. I want answers
and I want them now."

General
Holding's aide flew out of the room as if a nest of hornets were in hot
pursuit. The General wasn't in a very cordial mood at all.

A
few seconds later the voice of his clerk replied, "I am sorry sir, the
line is engaged."

"GIVE
ME FOREIGN AFFAIRS."

"Yes
Sir, of course Sir." His clerk knew that Dr. Jekyll had been discarded and
Mr. Hyde was on the rampage. He put his behaviour down to the two years he had
spent in what was known at the time as White Africa. Not the best place to send
the 'typical' American General, he thought. An ego boost was the last thing
Holding needed.

"Foreign
affairs, who is speaking?"

"General
Holding, give me Wilder."

"Sorry
Sir, Mr. Wilder is engaged."

"Give
me Wilder and give me him now."

"Yes
Sir."

"Wilder
here, what can I do for you, General?"

"Information.
I want information on what you bureaucrats are doing about this clockwork
cuckoo."

It
is a pity he is a friend of the President, thought Wilder. "We are
participating in a discussion in Moscow with various foreign affairs and
defence attaches, to try to come to some understanding about the problem. Does
that answer your question?"

"Make
it snappy," the General scorned. "I don't want this bird to get
away."

Holding
slammed the phone down and began pacing up and down, up and down, up and down.
Then he sat on his desk and tapped his fingers, tappity tap, tappity tap,
tappity tap. Then he raised his sensorvision remote handset and switched
on."

"Good-day
Miss Finebody...." …crash.

CHAPTER
7

Boris
Rigapolski entered the conference room thirty minutes late for his meeting. He
had been partially briefed on the situation concerning Silverbird, not his
guests, and had been given his instructions. Normally his superior Alexi
Krakarov would have attended the meeting but he had been taken ill, after a
mis-timed remark concerning 'The Bureau' while addressing an audience in
Bruzengrad.

The
preliminaries for the meeting had been by-passed. It had been decided by all
concerned that the three-day ritual, to decide what shape the table should be
and who sat where, would be overlooked, they did not have the time.

Boris
looked down upon his three adversaries contemptuously; none had the iron
muscles of the ex-Soviets. They should all feel honoured at having him present.

Ricky
Trickston, the U.S. Ambassador also looked down upon his adversaries but with
sympathy, none, he thought, had the dash and sheer capacity of the Americans,
everything in the States was bigger and better, especially in his adopted state
of Texas, plus he wasn't a 'temp'.

Julian
Smithers, the British charge d'affairs looked down upon his adversaries,
because they simply weren't British, and that spoke for itself.

Jacques
Bastille was his usual bloody-minded self. He hadn't forgiven the British for
liberating France, back in 45, nor had he forgiven the Americans for helping
them, or was it the other way round. Anyway, he would show them.

The
rest of the world was not invited. It was thought in the Kremlin, that their
atomics did not justify them a place at such a crucial meeting, apart from the
fact that they couldn't find any more chairs, but they did promise to inform
all of the situation as it arose. This was a pledge made by the highest
available authorities, whom everyone knew were forthright, if perhaps a little
on the devious side.

Boris
surveyed the faces of the other representatives before speaking. They were just
as he had imagined, faces have a habit of mirroring lifestyles and Boris had no
queries about life in the West. "Good-day comrades, my name is Boris
Rigapolski. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

It
was quite obvious that he wasn't being completely truthful.

"Please
be seated."

They
all sat and awaited Boris to continue.

"I
am afraid that I am new to this sort of meeting. Normally my superior would
take the chair."

The
hell, thought Ricky, I bet he really needs it.

"But
at present he is disposed of."

A
good choice of words, thought Julian.

"As
this meeting was put together hurriedly, I think we should all introduce
ourselves."

"We
hold the same positions, for different governments," intervened Julian.

"Oh!"
exclaimed Boris.

This
conversation went on for the best part of an hour. The duty guard had to be
excused twice, to relieve himself, as he put it. On both occasions he returned
holding his sides. He complained that they hurt him. Boris politely gave him
some abuse in his best Russian, then offered in English to get a doctor. The
guard assured Boris that he would be all right; he said the trouble was due to
an old complaint with his ears, then commenced fitting cotton wool.

After
their introduction they pressed on with the matter at hand and by dawn they had
issued a joint communiqué which read as follows:-

We,
the joint committee of Europe, Asia and America, have decided to pool our
resources in an effort to come to an understanding with our alien visitor. All
actions we may undertake will be done jointly and in close co-operation with
all countries concerned. We would ask the general public for its co-operation
in exercising calm. There is no reason for alarm. Our visitor has shown no
hostile acts and we have no reason to suspect a ploy. Our joint forces are on a
constant vigil and together they can handle any threat which may be poised. We
ask again for calm and restraint.

The
broadcasting of the communiqué would have been met by the usual disinterest by
the populace, had it not been about the worlds most momentous happening for two
millenniums, but even then, most of the world heralded the news with no more
than a keen interest, some even thought it a hoax, especially in one American
city.

CHAPTER
8

Over
the Arabian Gulf and high above parched lands, he glided, soaring like an
albatross on the warm air currents of terrene.

It
was here that Silverbird had taken thought and spoken his plea for unity. He
had spoken to all who could receive his message and when he had done he waited,
for what he hoped would be his hearts wished answer.

The
dying embers of daylight saw him swoop, wings locked toward the Indian Ocean.
The Suns last rays dancing upon his body. No longer was he alone for now he had
drawn company. He listened intently to the conversations of his guests, but as
yet found naught to answer to.

"This
is Nightrider, patch me through to General Holding."

"Holding
here, what is the latest, Nightrider?"

"I
have a sighting on Silverbird, I am turning to pursue."

"Are
you alone, Nightrider?"

"No,
I have two Mig thirties for company, General. They look like gnats on the back
of a great silver eagle."

"Play
it cool, Nightrider."

"Will
do, General...Wait! We have more company. Bogey inbound at two six zero, ten
miles, four hundred knots closure."

"Identify,
Nightrider."

"Too
far away, General. Will close on mystery craft for identification."

Silverbird
watched Nightrider draw near to the new arrival; in fact he thought them
dangerously close for foreign vessels. They seemed to be flying wing-tip to
wing-tip.

"I
see, but I do not believe."

"What
do you see, Nightrider?"

"This
fella with a turban on top. He's ... shaking his head and talking to
himself."

"How
close are you, Nightrider?"

"Very
close, General."

"What
is this about a turbine?"

"Not
turbine, General, turban, like bandages."

"Has
he hurt his head, Nightrider?"

"Turban,
General, its a head-dress."

"A
redskin. Warn him off, Nightrider."

"Will
do, General."

"Nightrider
to new arrival, acknowledge new arrival."

"I
am being a new arrival, what is it you are wanting, Nightrider?"

"You
are interfering with United States operations, new arrival, please abort."

"But
it is being such a lovely evening for flying."

"ABORT,
NEW ARRIVAL."

"As
you are wishing, Nightrider, I am being aborted."

"Task
accomplished, General. Returning to pursuit."

"O.K.
Nightrider, what is your position?"

"Coding
beta beta six five - L.C. eight six two four, alpha three two zero zero six
niner. Altitude two five four zero zero. Cruising at mach one point five. That
baby is really moving."

"Stay
with him, Nightrider."

"Roger,
General."

Silverbird
calmly processed the information received. The coding was simple to crack, but
he had difficulty with the phrase, 'really moving'. It was, after all, quite
obvious that he was moving.

"Could
it be some sort of reference to how you are moving?" suggested the
detectors.

"Perhaps,"
replied Silverbird, "but I thought they used such terms as amble or
dawdle, however, it is not important. I do find it curious though, how they
refer to me as an infant."

A
short, thoughtful pause, an inward smile.

"Let
me proceed, just a little faster, and see what other innovations the Earth
holds for me."

Silverbird
maintained his new speed over the South China Sea with little incident. There
were comings and going of the little 'fireflies', but this did not perturb him
unduly. On occasion some had tried to speak with him, but he could not answer.
Not until he received a joint call would he deal with the natives, for fear of
causing envy. He knew this emotion well.

Over
the vast Pacific, he continued, seeing many small islands below. It was upon
one of these small lands, locked within a deep sea mist, that he decided to
place his Krykan incubator.

He
flew low over the appointed area and caused a brief but violent electrical
reaction in the overlaying cloud. He still hoped the 'bios' locked within the
incubator of Krykan, would not be required, but he thought it best to play
safe. The last thing he wanted was to bring his warring brother, Warcloud, down
upon this little island world. He then considered transferring his
uni-conscious to the mind of Krykan himself, if his plans for a peaceful
joining with the Earthlings went amiss. So he could direct the tutoring of the
'bios' when they emerged from their embryonic shells, but this thought he dismissed,
he would not force his will on another. The most he may do was to implant his
conscious in the depths of Krykan's basers and lay dormant until the arrival of
his big brother, but this was a dangerous idea. He could quite easily loose
himself, and lay dormant forever.

Silverbird
returned to his flight plan, night turned to day; the sun sped across the sky.
Again he saw the pursuit craft close in behind.

"You
are approaching a large land mass," commented the detectors.

"Yes,
I see," replied Silverbird, who was breathing the fresh sea air and
channelling it over his analysis lungs. "I wonder what I shall find here.
I will watch and listen."

"This
is Highflyer calling General Holding, come in General Holding."

"Holding
here, Highflyer."

"We
are approaching the mainland, General."

"Where
do you expect to intersect, Highflyer?"

"North
of L.A., somewhere in the Frisco vicinity.

"Can
you give an exact location, Highflyer?"

"Sorry
General, Silverbird is making constant minor flight adjustments, he may pass
over either city."

"What
of the Russkies, Highflyer?"

"They
are peeling off, do we inaugurate plan Zeta six five?"

"No,
Highflyer, peace is the order of the day. We have received a communiqué from
Moscow; we are to work jointly with all nations. Let nothing hamper
Silverbird's progress."

"Roger,
General, will keep you informed..."

Silverbird
again came over land and saw many tall buildings; he coughed a little and
closed his analysers. He then proceeded inland at a much-reduced speed, so as
not to make nasty bangs and disturb the inhabitants below.

He
saw it all, high mountains, painted deserts, lush fields and many varied
habitats. For this he didn't require daylight, his eyes used many wavelengths.

With
the dawning of the World, he hovered high above New York, where sleepy eyes
would not observe him, and with his keen vision, he saw many contrasts, but one
thing especially took his interest. A large lady, holding what appeared to be
an ice-cream cone in her hand. His conscious had little information regarding
such things as ice creams.

"Who
is that?" queried Silverbird.

"You
have received this information already," replied the detectors.

"Miss
Finebody?" queried Silverbird.

"No,"
replied the detectors. "It is the Statue of Liberty."

"I
am sorry," replied Silverbird. "I must have been so engrossed with
the scenery, my location reports never registered. I will have to pay more
attention in future."

It
was at this point that Silverbird received his first joint contact. The message
came from high above the atmosphere, broadcast from the other side of the
world, where Boris Rigapolski had been standing by his transfer technicians for
many hours. He was waiting for them to rig up a satellite link on their
American imported giro beam equipment.

The
difficulty had simply been a dud chip, but the techs could not replace it.
Something to do with another high technology embargo, the technicians had said.
However, they had finally by-passed this fault and after congratulating
themselves the link had been forged.

Silverbird's
pulse began to race as the heart of his trionics increased his perception. It
made his pellicle sensors tingle.

Boris
showed obvious delight at Silverbird's acknowledgement. He glanced around
himself as if to say, 'Look at me, I've done it.' He noticed that the rest of
the committee had joined him and this served to please him even more.

"I
.... I mean we of the joint committee bid you welcome, Silverbird. We assure
you that our disposition is friendly, but you must appreciate that we have many
governments to satisfy, please bear with us."

"Your
position is understandable, Boris Rigapolski. I shall do all in my power to
satisfy your curiosity." Silverbird's voice gave no hint of excitement; he
simply spoke in his normal way.

Boris
noticed that the voice of Silverbird was not only coming from his own highly
sophisticated receiving equipment, but from the rear of the room also. He
turned to look behind and saw an old television set, perched on a cabinet in
the room corner and there upon the screen was the animated image of Silverbird,
just as it had been when he was sat in his tub.

This
threw Boris off balance; he didn't even know the set was switched on. The
measure of concern this caused him reflected in the way he forgot to abuse his
technicians. He began to stutter into his phonic pick-up. "We .... er ....
Those of us who .... er ...."

"Please
feel free to use what language you wish," said Silverbird. "My
decoders will translate to my own tongue, they even mimic my accent."

Julian
Smithers, realising Boris's shortcoming, quickly stepped in his place. "My
name is Julian Smithers, also of the joint committee. We realise that you mean
well, but could you possible narrow your bandwidth. Though we of the committee
welcome you, we feel your presence may cause disruptions in some of our more
unstable societies. Some repressive regimes may even use your presence to
further their own ends; acknowledge Silverbird."

Silverbird
was dismayed at what he heard, but he thought it only to be expected. His
detectors fed him close up views of the ground below to enlighten him of the
situation. He took a moment to re-adjust to the detectors, eye to visionary
exchange, an odd sensation, one of the few functions that he always achieved
with a conscious baser request.

The
view he received of the streets was not unlike his normal eyes on full
magnification, except for the lattice board effect and of course the limited
angle a single scanner gave.

He
zoomed the view to a single street. The first thing that struck him was the
large quantity of people recently gathered, many standing around in groups, the
scene didn't appear normal at all, surely they had other things to do. This
made Silverbird fearful.

"What
rides the airwaves?" he queried, it was much simpler to ask than to clog
his awareness with numerous irrelevant broadcasts.

"You
have one wavelength of particular interest," replied the detectors.
"It will be filtered out and given to you direct."

"....
And this is the scene here in New York City. As you can see, crowds are
beginning to gather at the news of our first alien contact. What was thought
yesterday to be no more than a hoax, has in the last fifteen minutes become
more of a reality than ever ...."

Silverbird
stared into the crowd; he saw many carrying placards which read, 'WELCOME
SILVERBIRD, WELCOME TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA'. This made him wonder for
a moment whether he had been detected by the crowd, visible yes, identifiable
perhaps but he quickly dispelled the thought and continued to observe. He saw
other placards, one of which read, 'PREPARE TO MEET THY DOOM. THE ANGEL OF
DEATH IS UPON US'.

This
caused Silverbird to cut the link with the committee to assess the situation.
The continuous aircraft drone above him, only served to upset him even more.

"This
is General Holding to Skyraider. Come in Skyraider."

"Skyraider
receiving."

"What
is happening up there, Skyraider? I have word from Moscow that they have lost
contact with Silverbird."

"Things
are just as they were, General."

"No
signs of hostility, Skyraider?"

"No
General, he just seems to be watching, but I doubt whether he can see much from
this altitude. It's hazy, I can barely see the ground."

"Do
not underestimate, Skyraider. His technology is beyond our understanding."

"Should
I put my cameras on him, General?"

Holding
glanced at his new forty-inch sensorvision screen. "It would not do any
good Skyraider, he has left his silent animation overriding all visual
channels.... Wait a minute, the image has disappeared."

"Switching
on cameras, General."

"Roger
and out, Skyraider."

Sweat
poured down the brow of Julian Smithers as he stood before the communication
equipment. Why had Silverbird gone silent, leaving only a screen image?

Boris
Rigapolski was also perspiring, his early bravado gone. "I could do with a
vodka," he choked.

"Me
too," said Julian.

"No
bourbon?" quipped Ricky.

"Trust
Ricky Trickston."

"Would
you be so good Jacques? There is a bottle in the cabinet under the
television," Boris spoke nervously.

"Jacques,
I said could you please get the vodka." Voice strengthening.

"JE
SUIS, JE SUIS."

"OK,
OK," said Boris with a Russian accent.

As
they all watched Jacques walk over to the cabinet, the picture suddenly
vanished from the screen.

They
held their breaths.

A
voice came from behind.

They
all jumped, then turned to the communication equipment.

"I
apologise for my lack of thought. I have narrowed my beam and now await your
instructions." Silverbird spoke with his usual calm.

A
huge sigh of relief from the committee.

The
senior transfer technician approached Boris, a few words in Russian and he
dismissed himself.

"I
have been informed that we are receiving direct pictures of Silverbird via the
American Defence Network. The department of a certain General Holding. If you
would care to view the video screen to your right, we should have pictures any
moment."

The
screen burst into life and Boris's face fell. "Is this some sort of
joke?" he spat at the technician.

The
technician held out his hands palms up, in a gesture of incomprehension.

General
Holding sat in his office and smirked. "I think that is enough," he
said to his aide. He never did like bureaucrats, all talk and no action.

In
Moscow the picture of the lady holding a box of toilet tissue vanished and was
replaced by an incredible view of Silverbird, hovering miles above the distant
skyline of New York, balancing on huge wings.

"Wow,
golly gee whiz," cried Ricky. "Lookee here at that."

They
all stood and looked,amazement on
their faces.

After
a few moments, Julian again spoke into the phonic sender, which had remained
continuously on. "Do you need re-fuelling, Silverbird?"

"Do
you mean, am I hungry?" came the reply. "The answer is no. I had a
light meal when I entered your stellar system."

Julian
didn't quite understand the answer. Even if Silverbird uses solar power, he
thought, surely he couldn't have gathered and stored enough energy to power all
his needs. He decided not to meddle further in what he didn't understand.

"We
will assemble a joint naval fleet in mid-Atlantic, Silverbird. We would
appreciate your presence. It would alleviate our people's misgivings and would
allow us to provide you with protection. Although I doubt that you need it. It
will also give us time to contact more heads of State with regard to our future
relations."

"I
will gladly oblige," replied Silverbird. "I would assure you, that
while I am upon your world. I will not pursue any course which may cause harm
to any individual of the Earth. I sincerely regret any disturbances I may have
unintentionally caused already."

"Thank
you, Silverbird. One last question, could you clarify your earlier remark
concerning a joining of our forces against a common foe?"

"As
our civilisations are drawing together, this matter need not concern you
unduly. I have friends on the way, who are quite competent to deal with any
disturbances. Your part will be small and not for many years yet. Let us talk
of these matters when our bonds have been formed."

At
first the committee was shaken by his answer, which seemed a little none
informative if not ominous, but the warmth and confidence of Silverbird's
voice, continued to grow on them, even after he had spoken, and their fears
were allayed.

"We
thank you again, Silverbird, our co-ordinators will supply you with the
location of our rendezvous.... "

"Could
I ask one question, Julie?"

Silverbird
answered for Julian Smithers, "Of course, go right ahead."

"What
in this cock-eyed universe, are you?"

"I
am to me, as you are to you, Mister Trickston."

Ricky
Trickston's bewildered face, held its pose for many minutes.

CHAPTER
9

General
Holding was feeling whacked, after the many hours he had been on duty. His only
consolation was that he hadn't been able to get home to his torrid wife.

He
sat now with his aide, talking and joking, anything to keep his eyes open.

"This
nigger I was telling you about, got out of his ramshackle automobile with his
mouth full of custard, ha ha, ho ho then he walks up to the fancy dress ball
entrance, ha ha ha, bet you can't guess what happens next?"

"No,
General."

"Well
you see, it goes like this: The doorman, all dressed in his fancy duds, with
his pretty white shirt says, 'Hey man, this is a fancy dress ball. What do you
think you're supposed to be?' ha ha, he ho, grunt and the nigger spits out the
custard all over that mans fancy duds ho, he ho and says, 'AAS A BLACKHEAD' he
he, ha ha, ho he. You know, a zit. You ain't laughing boy."

"Ma
Pa was a nigger, General, died in the Vietnam war."

"Well
I'll be. You cotton picking son of a bitch, and you all pearly white."

Holding's
transceiver burst into life. It was now used only for matters concerning
Silverbird.

"Calling
General Holding. This is Sunchild calling General Holding, come in
General."

Holding
sprang to his transceiver, "General Holding here, Sunchild. Is that you
Phil?"

"It
sure is, General."

"How
on earth did you come to get mixed up in this business, Phil?"

"I
was riding shotgun for a naval manoeuvre, apparently the cameras that were
fitted to the long range fighter escort, which were to accompany Silverbird
required adjustments, so here I am."

"You
have the task of escorting Silverbird down the North Atlantic coast until he
turns out to sea?"

"That's
right, General. A piece of cake really."

Holding
turned and picked up his phone, "Get me Commander Hilroy. I want him in
this office. He has some questions to answer."

"But
the commander is in Florida, nearly two thousand miles away," replied the
clerk.

"GET
ME COMMANDER HILROY AND GET ME......"

"Yes
sir, General, of course General, right away."

"Sorry
about that, Phil. How are things out there."

"Me
and Silverbird are just fine, General, and yourself."

"Oh,
plodding along. You know I hate sitting in an office."

"Yeah,
know what you mean. Could I ask a favour, General?"

"Sure,
go right ahead."

"Well
it seems I'm gonna be late for supper. I was due on leave tomorrow. I promised
the kids I would take them down to Rocky Park. Would you let Jenna know I'm
gonna be late."

"Sure
kid, I used to worry too. You sure love that family of yours."

"You
bet, General."

Holding
fumbled about in his pocket, searching for the phone number. He knew the house
call number, but the interstate exchange always had him beaten. Finally he
found the tatty piece of paper he was looking for.

"I
have the number here, Phil. I'll get right on it."

"No
hurry, General, I ain't due home till the early hours."

"Say
Phil, if you are going on leave, why not call down my place sometime. I'm sure
the old Foxba ... er, I mean Bertha, your ma, would be pleased to see
you."

"Can
do, General."

"Is
there anything else I can do before I sign off?"

"You
could check where my relief has got to. I am already off the Central American
coast about fifty miles out, fuels running low and the skies getting dark. I
will have to return to base shortly."

"Message
understood. I will see what I can do."

"Just
a mo, General. I think you can cancel that request. I have four blips on my
radar, must be the escort, strange though, I have had no recognition
code."

"Perhaps
with us chatting so much, Phil, maybe you missed..."

"Maybe,
General, will take a look anyway .... I have them in view, but I can't make
them out clearly, it's too dark up here."

"Give
them a call, Phil."

"Will
do, General."

"Sunchild
to Foursome, Sunchild to Foursome. Identify .... Sunchild to Foursome, come in
Foursome .... No reply General .... HELL AND DAMNATION, WE HAVE A MISSILE
LAUNCH. THEY'RE ATTACKING SILVERBIRD."

"GET
OUTTA THERE, PHIL .... DO YOU HEAR ME?"

"No
can do, General. I have a job to do here."

Sunchild
swung through one eighty degrees at the speed of sound, but even the oppressive
'G' force couldn't slow Phil Holding. His duty was clear.

General
Holding's face was a ghostly white. His hands were trembling and his legs felt
weak.

"Let
me help you, Sir, " said his aide, "I know how you are feeling."

CHAPTER
10

Pain
racked Silverbird's body. Thunder was in his ears and his eyes were blind. He
screamed heedlessly in his anguish, his cry reaching out into the distant
heavens. All his thoughts were numbed by the agony of his body, but like a
passing hurricane the pain was gone. His conscious drifted freely in utter
blackness, no thoughts passing through his mind, for he had no language in
which to think, nor had he any memories to fall upon, all was gone.

Silverbird's
sight began to return, but his vision was not his own. A single lattice screen
appeared before him, as his mind again connected he recognised the detector
visionary. The sound of the wind again became apparent, but it was metallic and
cold. His body remained numb. It could only mean one thing.

"Detectors,
report please."

"I
am afraid you are flying on borrowed time, Silverbird. You have lost all
sensors and analysers. Your trionic nerve centre is dead. All normal sound and
vision functions have been rendered inoperative. It is only the deeds of the
auto-comps which have kept you airborne. All detector functions were channelled
directly there."

"I
understand, detectors. Thank you and the auto-comps for bringing me back on
line. What of our aggressors?"

"They
did not cease hostilities voluntarily; they were destroyed by our escort. He
fought valiantly before his own end. He died well."

Silverbird
wondered at his detectors sentiments. At times he found it difficult to believe
that they and his auto-comps were no more than his subconscious and at times
the alter-ego of his Trigon mind.

"Aircraft
approaching."

"Probably
my fighter escort," retorted Silverbird. "Have I the means with which
I can warn them to stand off, for my departure?"

"Perhaps,"
replied the detectors. "One can only try."

The
detectors attempted to put out a message of warning as best they could, then
spoke no more.

The
battered hulk of Silverbird groaned as it changed course; propelled only by his
directional thrusters, for his wings were crippled and his engines lifeless. No
more did he speak with his basers; there was nothing more to say, they knew
their final task.

The
committee for alien contact stood motionless, staring at their television
screen. The fighter aircraft had directed their camera vision via normal
channels to all who would watch. These were the orders of General Holding,
given with the consent of the President.

Upon
the screen the shadowy outline of Silverbird could be seen moving out to sea.
He moved with laboured determination, until he came at last above a small
island atoll and there he paused, and in the light of a silvery moon, his
broken body came to its final destiny.

A
cruel detonation of horrific magnitude, rent the calm of the night air asunder.
With the likeness of a huge atomic explosion, the powerful, but pathetic
remains of Silverbird transcended the world of humankind. A brilliant light
before a darkened sky.

The
End

EPILOGUE
ONE

With a deliberance borne of hate did Warcloud
break his bonds with his companion; the tortured cry of his little brother
still echoing in his mind. His boosters burst into life and like the true angel
of death he pounded his way down the celestial star lanes. The galactic myriads
shrank and cowered at his coming. Even the perpetual river of time stemmed its
flow to stand breathless and in awe. A mighty phantom, he seemed, menacing,
foreboding, but most of all, vengeful.